


Smitten

by schizoauthoress



Series: Seven Days of Smulio 2017 [4]
Category: The Simpsons
Genre: First Dates, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-11-07 02:30:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11049444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schizoauthoress/pseuds/schizoauthoress
Summary: This is something different than Waylon's usual weekend plans (featuring Peruvian tapas!)





	Smitten

"Patty, did you get invited to a party at Homer and Marge's place?" Waylon asked.

Patty had been expecting the question to come up and lied smoothly, "Yeah, but I've got a date lined up for that day." The date part wasn't the lie -- but a lesbian had no interest in a mixer for gay men, and Waylon wasn't supposed to know what kind of party it was until he was there. Marge had been very clear on that point when asking for Patty's help.

"Oh, that's nice!" Waylon said. "Anyone I know?"

"She lives out in the sticks, so probably not. Her name's Marcia. If this date goes well, maybe I'll let her meet you."

Waylon laughed. "Sounds like you're serious about this one?"

"Maybe." Patty pulled the phone away from her ear to exhale a stream of smoke without letting the white noise bother Waylon. Once that was done, she pointed out, "We're neither of us getting any younger, after all."

"That's true."

"Listen, go to that party. Marge was the one in charge of the guest list, so it can't be too bad. It's bound to be more interesting than playing fetch with your dog, hm?"

Normally, Patty would have added an 'or' to that statement -- something like 'massaging Mr. Burns's feet', to tease Waylon about his persistent crush on his boss. But Mr. Burns had recently brushed off Waylon's latest attempt at confessing romantic feelings, and he'd done so in such a harsh way that it had really shaken Waylon up. Patty could be rude and harsh herself, but she didn't like seeing Waylon down like this. She wasn't going to poke him when he felt fragile.

But she did agree -- with Marge -- that Waylon would be happier if he found someone other than Monty Burns to lavish with attention. Someone other than Monty Burns might actually have the heart to return such attentions with affection.

"I dunno..." Waylon drew out the word, pretending to consider Patty's 'alternate proposal'. "Herc-y does go wild for fetch..."

Patty laughed, then coughed -- holding the phone away from her again until the fit passed. She cleared her throat and brought the receiver back in close. "If it turns out their little shindig is lame, you'll always have fetch to fall back on."

Waylon thought it was a little odd for Patty to push so much for anything Homer had a hand in, but he also trusted her. He sighed softly. "All right. I'll give Marge a call and RSVP."

"Don't sound so excited. It's something different for you."

"Yeah, yeah..."

****

Waylon turned onto Evergreen Terrace and scowled. He recognized most of the cars parked on the street around the Simpson home. He'd seen plenty of them around various clubs and especially in Springfield's Gay District.

"So," he grumbled as he parallel parked across the street from the suburban home, "this was their game."

And Patty had been roped into helping him get here, clearly. Now that he thought of it, he wasn't really surprised. She'd been on him to socialize more lately. Waylon wasn't sure why she thought any idea cooked up by Simpson, Leonard, and Carlsson was going to end well, especially given her low opinion of her brother-in-law. But he knew well that those three would probably try some other, more outlandish scheme to matchmake on his behalf if he just left now. Waylon gave a frustrated sigh and rubbed the back of his neck. A brief appearance, however annoying, at this stupid party would be less painful than dragging things out by avoiding it.

Waylon got out of the car, locked it, and checked the quiet street before marching across. He noticed the banner strung aross the second floor windows as he drew closer to the back end of the pale yellow Beetle near the Simpson driveway.

'Party with No Agenda'. He might have laughed if he weren't so annoyed. It was stupidly transparent... and thus it was obviously Homer's idea. He went up the walkway and rang the doorbell.

"Ah, Mr. Smithers!" Homer exclaimed. He actually looked fairly decent for once, even if all he'd done different in clothing was to throw a green v-neck sweater over his usual work clothes. Homer reached out and took Waylon by the shoulder, saying, "Come in, come in, come in!" as he guided Waylon into the foyer.

Waylon cast an unimpressed glance around -- as he suspected, the party guests were all men, mostly familiar faces.

"Can I get you a Tom Collins?" Homer asked. He walked over to a party guest, turning the blond man in the grey sports jacket around to face Waylon. 

"Hello! Tom Collins," the man introduced himself, sticking out a hand. Waylon shook, merely to be polite, and definitely didn't smile. Tom picked up on the lack of interest -- he dropped Waylon's hand and took a sip of his drink before leaving to find a better source of conversation.

"Hmph," Waylon folded his arms over his chest, regarding his employee with annoyance. "I see what's going on here. Fix up your boss so he won't be so hard on you? Well, _nice try_..."

The unhappy look on Homer's face as Waylon walked past him into the living room did make Waylon feel a little better. It probably didn't make him a good person, but there was a sense of vindictive satisfaction in seeing someone else spend all sorts of time and effort, yet still fail to get what they wanted.

Waylon went up to the bar that had been set up in the corner. He leaned against it and snapped at the bartender, "I want a vodka tonic, and then I'm going to leave."

The bartender gave the slightest nod, then turned to fill his order. Waylon took note of the fact that he sliced and juiced a fresh lime to add to the vodka, and that both it and the tonic water were recognizable, high quality brands. 

'At least Simpson didn't skimp on the bar,' Waylon admitted. The thought did little to improve his mood, and he glared as he looked around the living room.

"You know what, I don't think that attitude is the real you," the bartender said as he turned back around and handed the garnished highball glass to Waylon. Waylon took the glass and continued scowling out at the room between sips, showing his back to the man. Apparently ignoring the fact that he was being ignored, he continued in a good-natured voice, "I believe you have a pinched nerve in your neck. And you're in luck, because I give great massage!"

Waylon finished off the vodka tonic and glanced over -- at 'Julio,' he suddenly remembered, one of the frequent clientele at Mo's, about two years back -- then muttered, "Sorry. Not interested."

It was Waylon's turn to be ignored -- Julio reached over, placing his warm hands steady on either side of Waylon's head, and firmly guided Waylon's head into turning at a particular angle. 

There was a distinct 'pop' that sounded particularly loud to Waylon and... the sudden cessation of pain in his neck and shoulders made him aware of the tension that had been there only seconds earlier.

" _Wow_!" Waylon said. Maybe this was part of why he'd been in such a bad mood since the skydiving incident. After all, Mr. Burns had brushed him off many times before, and it hadn't really 'hit' him as hard as this latest time... which happened right after Monty had shoved him down against the ground and stood on his helmet. The rough landing probably hadn't helped either. Waylon rubbed at his neck. "Wow... how did you do that?"

Julio smiled slyly at him and leaned onto the bar, resting his head on one hand. "Would you like to discuss that over Peruvian tapas?"

'Oh, what the hell!' Waylon thought to himself. It wasn't every day that an attractive man made him feel better. He set the empty highball glass firmly on the bar and spun around to see Homer gorging on a plate of cheese cubes. "Simpson!" Waylon declared, "I'm stealing your bartender! Take the next couple days off!"

Julio grinned and followed him as he marched out of the Simpson home. 

"Woo-hoo!" Homer shouted. Waylon heard a clatter as that cheese plate hit the ground, and Homer chanted, "Three day bender!"

Homer wouldn't be fit to work for a week after, if past experience bore out. As Julio shut the front door behind them, Waylon couldn't bring himself to care.

Out on the walkway, Julio took Waylon's hand and gave it a little squeeze. He asked, "Have you ever been to Sumak Kawsay? It's a little place, but the food is great."

"No, I -- _oh_!" Waylon stopped, and slapped his forehead with his freehand. Julio shot Waylon a bemused, concerned look. Waylon blushed. "I just remembered. I wasn't going to stay. Since my plans changed, I have... uh, something I need to take care of before lunch."

Julio smiled. "That's no problem. Why don't we trade phone numbers now, and I'll put the restaurant address in your GPS, too? You have an app for that, right?" Julio's smile widened when Waylon nodded yes to that. "Great! We can meet up at Sumak Kawsay when you're ready. Just give me a call when you're on your way."

"That would be great," Waylon replied with relief. They reached the end of the Simpson driveway and he said, "I'm sorry about this, Julio."

Julio waved a hand, "It's fine; no apology needed." He chuckled, "And you _do_ remember me. I'd wondered about that, Waylon."

Waylon cleared his throat. "I don't usually..."

"Steal people for your dates?" Julio suggested.

"Right."

Julio shot him a flirty look. "Then I'm flattered to be the exception to your rule." It was Waylon's turn to laugh, at that.

They each took out their phones and opened up the contact list, then traded off so that Julio could type his name and number up as an entry in Waylon's phone (and vice versa). Julio pocketed his phone when Waylon passed his back, and handed over Waylon's. 

Waylon accessed the GPS app. "Here you go."

Julio quickly tapped in the details and said, "That should do it."

"Awesome," Waylon said, mostly so he wouldn't repeat 'great' again.

"I had to park pretty far down the street," Julio said. "So I'll say goodbye for now, Waylon. See you at the restaurant!"

****

"Hi there, Herc-y boy!" Waylon greeted happily.

Hercules yipped and pawed at Waylon's pant leg. Waylon crouched and ruffled the small dog's fur. "Guess what? A very handsome man asked your pops out to lunch. So we're gonna go for a run around the block so you can potty, and then we'll check if Mrs. Scopes can watch you tonight."

Waylon knew Hercules didn't understand a word of what was said -- except maybe his own name, 'run', and 'potty' -- but as usual, the Yorkie responded happily to words spoken in a cheerful tone. Waylon got up to grab Hercules's leash, and the dog sat obediently at the sight of it.

Waylon kicked off his dress shoes and stepped into the slip-on sneakers he kept in the coat closet. Then he clipped the leash onto Hercules's collar. Hercules bounced to a standing postion again. Waylon opened the door and Hercules pulled ahead eagerly.

"Heel, Hercules," Waylon said in a stern tone, but he walked quickly toward the elevator, knowing from the way that his dog was acting that Hercules must need to pee pretty badly. Hercules trotted alongside Waylon as trained, panting and looking around with the usual curiosity.

The elevator ride down was quick, and Hercules ran for the nearest stand of landscaping and his favorite bush therein once Waylon got them outside. He finished his business and started sniffing around the other bushes and trees for evidence of other dogs in 'his' territory.

"All right, Herc-y. Let's go for a jog." Waylon grinned when Hercules barked at him, like a reply. "You know you need your exercise. Come on!"

They started at a slow pace, to allow both of them to warm up. Once around the block was enough --- there was a slight wheeze to Hercules's panting at that point. Waylon knew not to push the old dog, no matter how excited Hercules was to keep going. He ruffled the fur on the Yorkie's head and praised,

"Good boy, Herc-y! Very good boy!"

Waylon led the way back inside to buy a bottled water from the vending machine near the security guard's desk. He took a drink as they headed right back outside, to the sidewalk. Then Waylon knelt down and poured water into his cupped palm for Hercules to drink from. He didn't want to make Herc-y wait until they got upstairs, after all.

****

"I'd be happy to watch Hercules today, Waylon!" Mrs. Scopes said. The old woman always spoke loudly over the phone -- Waylon suspected her hearing was fading, so he followed suit and raised his voice slightly whenever he called. Mrs. Scopes continued, "My Taffy has been a little down lately. It'll do her good to have a playmate for the day!"

"Well, I'm glad that we both benefit, ma'am!" Waylon replied. 

Taffy was Mrs. Scopes's miniature Schnauzer, about six years old, and Hercules liked visiting her as much as Taffy liked having him around. It was nice having Mrs. Scopes in the same building to watch out for his dog, and that she had a dog to keep Hercules company was a bonus. Waylon repaid these favors by driving Mrs. Scopes around on errands, because the old woman had refused every attempt Waylon made at compensating her with cash.

Mrs. Scopes tutted, and said, "Oh, but don't tell me that Burns is calling you in to work on the weekend again?"

Waylon would probably get upset if it were anyone else, speaking about Mr. Burns in such a dismissive tone. He knew from long experience that simply calling Monty 'that Burns' was as polite as Mrs. Scopes ever got. (And she could get a lot worse.) It was not worth it to argue.

Instead, he answered calmly, "No, Mrs. Scopes. I have a lunch date."

"How nice!" Mrs. Scopes exclaimed. "I hope he's a good one. You need to find yourself a nice young man, Waylon!"

Waylon couldn't recall ever mentioning his sexuality to Mrs. Scopes, but at this point he was used to his 'transparent closet'. There must be something about him that indicated to most people what he'd jokingly referred to as 'subdued flamboyance'. He smiled slightly and asked, "Can I swing by your apartment in say, fifteen or twenty minutes?"

"I'll be ready, dear."

"Thanks again, Mrs. Scopes."

****

Waylon chewed on another breath mint as he checked the upcoming streets for the next turn. He was close to the restaurant and having sudden doubts about even accepting this date. Why was a man like Julio interested in him? What if this was an elaborate joke?

"Don't be stupid," Waylon said out loud. "There's no reason an adult would play such a prank."

"In five hundred feet, turn right onto L Street," the GPS intoned.

Waylon took the turn carefully when he saw L Street, and swallowed the tiny bits that remained of his breath mint. He cleared his throat and said firmly to himself, "You decided to walk out of there with Julio. He's lucky you picked him."

If only it was as easy to believe as it was to say!

"In half a mile, turn left on Northam Avenue. Your destination will be on the right."

Waylon's gaze flicked to the GPS display, then back to the road. Half a mile to the restuarant, eight miles to go home. It would be utterly foolish to turn around now, so forward was his only option, nerves be damned!

****

Julio drummed his fingers on the tabletop along with the ambient muisc on the sound system, the noise distracting him from doubtful thoughts. (He was using the index and middle fingers of both hands, having learned a while back that tapping with the fingers of only one hand made people think he was impatient.) He hummed under his breath and watched the door, not wanting to miss when Waylon walked in.

The bell on the door jingled, and Julio looked up, only to deflate slightly when he saw a large family entering the restaurant. Julio slouched a little and grabbed his glass of ice water to take a long drink. He hoped Waylon would show. Julio hadn't been ditched very often, but it always stung when it happened.

'Besides,' Julio reminded himself as he drank, 'he did call and say he was on his way...'

"You look like someone kicked a puppy," a voice said behind him. Julio startled and lost his grip on the glass. A second later, he realized that the speaker was Waylon, as he tried to grab the glass more securely, but -- 

Splash!

"Oh no!" Waylon cried. 

Julio grabbed for the napkins on the table, using them to mop at the spreading wet area on his shirt. "Huh," he commented in a mild tone, "My first ice-breaker involving real ice..."

Waylon wrung his hands. "I'm so sorry!" He noticed a passing waitress and flagged her down.

The woman asked, "Is everything al-- ah," she cut herself off when she got a good look at Julio. "I'll be right back."

She went into the kitchen area and returned quickly with a few hand towels.

"Thanks," Julio said to her, as he accepted one of the towels. He glanced up at Waylon. "It's okay, Waylon. It's just water. I don't think I got any on your chair."

"Oh." Waylon grabbed the rest of the towels from the waitress, putting them on his chair. He picked up one to help mop up the water that had spilled on the table, while the waitress took one in order to pick up the ice that had scattered on the tiled floor. 

She stood again, determined that they probably had enough towels to finish cleaning up, and went into the back again. This time, she returned with a plastic shopping bag that she gathered the soaked hand towels into. Julio smiled at her gratefully and dropped the first towel into the bag. "Thank you. We apologize for the mess."

"That's why we don't have carpet," she told him, with a small smile of her own, "though it's usually the little kids that make messes."

"Yes, I am quite hopeless," Julio sighed. Waylon passed him another dry towel, and he held it to his shirt front. "Regardless, this is the other half of my party of two, so we'll be ready for menus when you have a moment, Reina."

"I'll be back," Reina said. She walked away, shaking her head and trying not to laugh.

Waylon pushed aside Julio's hands and pressed the last of the towels to the dark spot on his shirt. Julio winked at Waylon and said, "Sneaky, sneaky. Couldn't wait to touch my chest, hm?"

Waylon blushed, but replied calmly, "It's a very nice chest, I must admit."

Julio chuckled. Those three cloths got his shirt from soaked to merely damp. Waylon took both of the towels and folded them up, putting them in the empty center of the table where Reina would be able to pick them up without disturbing either place setting.

"I am sorry for startling you."

"It's fine, I promise. My own fault for being distracted, baby."

"All right," Waylon relented. He wasn't used to this lack of reaction to what was clearly his own mistake. But it would just be silly to argue in favor of being blamed. So Waylon sat down.

Reina returned, passed them each a laminated menu, and collected the remaining hand towels. Waylon looked over the two-sided, colorful sheet of paper. The name of each dish was in Spanish, but the explanation for what it contained was in English, and there were wine suggestions below that.

"A bit early in the day for wine, I think?" Julio asked.

"Agreed." He glanced up at Julio and admitted, "I've never had Peruvian food before. Any suggestions?"

Julio hummed thoughtfully. "I like to get the ceviche, but if you don't like raw fish..."

"No, no, it's fine. I'm lactose intolerant, but that's it for food allergies."

Julio nodded. "The ocopa and papa de huancaina both come with cheese, so that's probably off the list. Empanadas are always good, and the aji amarillo sauce is spicy but not burn your tongue off spicy, you know? Aji de gallina comes with the same sauce."

Waylon looked back down at the menu to find the dishes that Julio had mentioned without cheese. The empanadas were 'filled with seasoned ground beef' and the aji de gallina was shredded chicken and walnuts in the aforementioned pepper sauce. "I don't know if I can handle two dishes with the same level of spiciness."

Julio furrowed his brow and traced a finger down the list of dishes. "Carapulcra is flavored with aji panca. That's a much more mild pepper. Unless you don't care for pork?"

"No, that's fine." Waylon found the entry -- a pork, peanut, and yellow potato stew flavored with aji panca, cinnamon, and other spices. It did sound tasty. "So, ceviche for you, carapulcra for me, and empanadas to share?"

Julio raised an eyebrow at Waylon's imitation of his pronunciation. It got much closer than he would have expected. He grinned. "Good idea. You can never have too many empanadas."

"And maybe this time when they bring you ice water, most of it will end up in your mouth." Waylon said it in a perfect deadpan, but winked at Julio when the man made an affronted face.

Julio blushed. "I'll do my best."

****

"...And we're thinking, well, these are all highly trained individuals. We've paid for some of them to get degrees in this field! A little fire drill isn't going to challenge them at all!"

Julio, head resting on one hand again as he looked at Waylon, chuckled. "Did they prove you wrong?"

"So wrong..." Waylon shook his head. "A mass evacuation of the power plant is only supposed to take forty five seconds, if everything goes as planned."

"That quickly?" Julio asked with surprise.

Waylon nodded. "Of course, it's rare that everything runs perfectly smoothly in an evacuation, but in this case? It took them more than fifteen minutes for even one person to get out! And..." Waylon tried and failed to stifle a laugh. "That person... was Homer Simpson... and he barricaded the door behind him!" Waylon laughed all the harder, remembering it.

"That's terrible!" Julio exclaimed, but he was snickering as well.

"I know, I know." Waylon took off his glasses and wiped at his eyes. "It's awful, but it's awfully funny, too."

****

"...So, really. How _did_ you figure out what was wrong with my neck? You had five seconds to look at me." Waylon leaned forward and snagged a forkful of Julio's ceviche, just to try it.

"Well, like I said, I run a salon downtown. A few of my employees have skills beyond hairdressing, enough that we could possibly expand to offer spa services like facials." Julio snickered when Waylon made a face over the flavor of the cured raw fish (Waylon managed to swallow, but was glad he'd gone with the pork stew instead). "I went back to school to learn massage therapy. Maritza, one of my colorists, is studying to be certified in the same thing. Once she is, Hairy Shearers will be a salon and spa."

"Is there a reason you're waiting?"

"Some women might not be comfortable with a man rubbing his hands on their body, even if they know I'm gay. She can be another option." Julio shrugged. "That, and I don't know that I could handle the workload if it was just me."

"Makes sense...."

"How did you injure your neck anyway?" Julio wondered. "I'd guess a little _too_ much time spent on the computer, in a bad posture? If your job calls for that."

"Actually, I think the pinched nerve was from skydiving, not paper pushing."

"Skydiving? You're braver than me, baby. I'd be terrified."

"Oh, so was I," Waylon said, "but I ended up more focused on rescuing Monty, and that wasn't so different from the diving I did with the Navy."

"What do you mean, 'rescuing Monty'?"

"He passed out part of the way down. I think it was the change in altitude, or something..." Waylon paused to snag the last empanada on the serving plate between them, and took a bite. He chewed and swallowed before continuing, "So I had to grab hold of him and get my parachute open for both of us."

Julio was staring at Waylon with awe. "You make it sound like no big deal."

"Do I? It was very big deal to me -- the last thing I wanted was to see Mr. Burns dead. But at a time like that, you can't think about anything but your next move and your end goal." Waylon took a few more bites of the empanada, leaving himself with a small corner, mostly the crisp edge of the dough pocket. 

"What did he have to say? After you rescued him?"

Waylon didn't quite feel like rehashing his thwarted confession to Mr. Burns, especially not to Julio at this moment. He sighed, and quoted, "He said, 'I'll see you back at the office, don't be late!'" Waylon popped the last bit of his food into his mouth, mostly to have something to do other than talk.

Julio's mouth fell open. "You rescued him from splattering on the ground and all he said was 'see you back at the office'?!"

"He does that," Waylon replied.

Julio made a disgusted sound. "It's not right! if you saved my life, I'd do _anything_ to reward you."

"Anything?" Waylon asked.

Julio smacked his fist on the table for emphasis and said, "Damn right."

Waylon smirked, and reached out to trace the knuckles on Julio's hand. "And, uh... what do you do when I haven't rescued you from certain death?" He took in the surprised look on Julio's face and his smirk widened.

Julio gave his head a little shake, and laughed. "Smooth."

"I have my moments."

Julio glanced at the table. "It seems we've been here long enough to finish what we ordered. Do you want to get something else, or...?"

Waylon kept petting Julio's hand. "I've been having a wonderful time. I honestly hadn't noticed."

"I enjoyed myself, too." Julio uncurled his hand and took hold of Waylon's. "Did you... there are some shops around here. Clothing and crafts and such. Would you be interested in taking a look?"

Waylon realized that Julio didn't want this date to end either, and he smiled brightly. "I would."


End file.
